


No Such Thing As A Happily Ever After

by PyroKlepto



Category: Galavant (TV)
Genre: Angst, No Fluff, just pure angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 02:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6547540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PyroKlepto/pseuds/PyroKlepto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Madalena gives into the darkness? What if the only way to stop her from destroying everything is for the One True King to use the Hero's Sword on her?</p><p>And what if she is not the only casualty?</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Such Thing As A Happily Ever After

**Author's Note:**

> I blame Christina, aka sweetmxdalena on Tumblr, for this. Then again, I'm the one who brought Richard up in our conversation, so I blame myself here too. 
> 
> The summary says it all. Please pay attention to the rating and the warnings. There are also very vague and faint implications in the last section of the story that might be triggering to some, so definitely be on the watch. As always, feel free to leave a comment if you enjoyed this story, or to leave requests/tell me what you'd like to see. I'll file it all away in my Future Writings document.

Everything was supposed to have been okay. That was how it worked, wasn’t it? The bad guys were defeated, the day was saved, and no one good ever died - everybody lived happily ever after. That was how it worked.

Except it wasn’t. Sometimes the hero lost a friend. Sometimes the good guys died.

Sometimes there was no such thing as a happily ever after.

 

_“Do it!”_

_This wasn’t right. Oh, this wasn’t right at all._

_If Richard just waited a little longer, something would happen. Something would happen, and everything would be okay again. Madalena wouldn’t be struggling to escape Gareth’s arms, and she wouldn’t be trying to destroy them all. The battle would be over. No one would have to die._

_Just a little longer. Just wait a little longer._

_No, Richard. That never worked. Never in your life has waiting for a magical solution to your problems solved anything. Because no help ever came. Ignoring them won’t make them go away._

_“Richard!”_

_Ignoring Gareth and Madalena won’t make them go away. Ignoring this battle won’t make it go away. It isn’t going away. It isn’t going away. It… it isn’t going away. Make it go away. Don’t make me do this alone._

_Rapid breaths, coming in gasps; quick-pulsing heartbeats, like a frightened sparrow trapped behind his ribs. Wide eyes, escaped tears._

_“Gare, I can’t.”_

_“I can’t hold her much longer, now do it.”_

_“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. I… don’t make me do this, please don’t make me do this, I can’t…”_

_An angry scream; Madalena thrashing about in an attempt to escape, Gareth holding her tightly to his chest, struggling to do so and keep his eyes on Richard at the same time._

_Is he crying too? Richard can’t tell through the haze of his own tears._

_“Richard, ya gotta do it, it’s the only way…!”_

_There’s screaming. Some of it is from Madalena, sounds of rage. Some of it is from the men and women battling all around them, sounds of pain._

_Pain._

_Stepping forward, sword gripped tight in white-knuckled hands. Shaking, heartbeats deafening, eyes stinging and chest aching._

_Blade plunging forward. Eyes shut tight, because if you can’t see it, it isn’t real. It isn’t real._

_It isn’t real._

_The red on silver isn’t real. The blossom of crimson blooming on clothing isn’t real. It’s not real, none of it is real, Richard, none of it is real…_

_Except it is._

_And he falls to the ground, hands tangled in his hair, head down; and he sobs so violently it soon feels as though his chest itself will split open and the shards of his heart will tumble out._

_Then darkness._

 

“Is he alright?”

Galavant’s voice is weary and hoarse from hours of fighting and shouting, and he wants nothing more than to sleep. But somehow, he can’t bring himself to. Not yet.

The healer looks up at them. “Physically, yes.”

“What about mentally? What happened?”

Izzy’s voice is soft, and worried. She is tired too, but refuses to rest. There are bodies to identify, and wounded to tend to, and princess or not she is going to help.

The healer turned her eyes to Izzy, expression solemn. “He passed out. Nothin’ serious or anything.” A pause. “I think he was just crying too hard, it cut off his breathin’.”

A long silence falls as they all turn to the form sprawled out on the cot, silver-streaked locks matted with a combination of sweat and tears. And then the healer speaks again.

“Mentally… I don’t rightly know, m’lady. He… well, I’ve been here a long time, and my mum here before that. He was… he was very close to his guard. What he did… I can’t make any promises on how it’ll affect him. Not much I can do to help neither, I’m afraid.”

Galavant nods, and looks silently to his wife.

Izzy looks back at him for a moment, and then says, “We should stay here. With him. Until we’re sure… until we’re sure he’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. He’s going to need his friends more than ever now. And we are his friends.”

 

“ _You silly ponce… I’m proud of ya… proud of the man you’ve become._ ”

Last words.

They don’t return to Richard until many days after, when he can think of what happened without immediately becoming sick.

“I’m not, Gareth,” he says to the empty room. “I’m not.”

The words come back, again and again and again, like a chant, and Richard answers aloud every time.

“I’m not, Gareth,” he says to the grass he sits in, holding fistfuls of it, hoping that grasping earth so tightly will keep him grounded.

“I’m not, Gareth,” he says to the sharp and glittering shards of the mirror he smashed, unable to bear seeing the tired blue eyes and shadows beneath staring back at him.

“I’m not proud of it! I’m not! I’m not!” he shouts to the pinpoints of stars up in the sky, wind tugging at his hair and drying the tears on his face. He lets his gaze fall, shoulders shaking as he tries in vain to fight back the sobs. The sky is nothing but silence.

Richard isn’t proud. And no one else should be. Not even Gareth.

Not that it matters much now. Gareth is gone.

 

Galavant rakes a hand through his hair, searching high and low to no avail. He stops a stable boy. “Hold on. Have you seen Richard anywhere?”

“The King? Aye.” He points toward the field. “He’s with… with the dragon, sir. Has been for at least a day now. Far as I know, he’s not even come back to eat or anything.”

Galavant sighs. “Thank you.” He turns and makes his way back to the dining room, where Izzy and Sid await anxiously for news of any calibre.

“Well?” Her voice is full of worry.

“Stableboy says that Richard is with the dragon,” Galavant replies. “Which means we aren’t going to get anywhere near him. I tried searching out there; the beast tried to snap at me.”

“Maybe I could go try,” Izzy suggests, brow furrowed as she rises to her feet.

“Don’t. Some more time alone might be what he needs. Besides, I doubt the dragon will let anyone near Richard if he doesn’t want to be found.”

“Gal… I’m afraid. He’s not himself.”

“Of course he isn’t. He stabbed his best friend and former wife. He isn’t going to be ‘himself’ ever again, Izzy.”

“Doesn’t any of it bother you? Especially since… well, you know…”

“No. Madalena was evil, and she was out of control. What happened was what needed to happen, for the safety of everyone else.”

“You used to love her.”

“That was a long time ago. I love you now. Let’s leave it at that and stop thinking about this, shall we? Sid, come on. Let’s go see about supper.”

 

Damn her. Damn Madalena. Damn her, damn her, damn her.

It was her fault, Richard realises as he lies curled up beneath the warm tent of Tad Cooper’s wing for the third day in a row.

“I hate her,” he tells the dragon in a harsh whisper, voice trembling and hoarse. “I hate her.”

A low rumble - almost a purr - resounds through the creature’s body, and Richard can feel faint vibrations through the ground. He curls up tighter, back pressed against Tad Cooper, and clenches his jaw so hard it pops. “He’d still be alive if it wasn’t for her.”

But the longer he dwells on the matter, the more the realisation dawns that this… this didn’t start with Madalena at all. Not really.

It started with him.

If he had never fleetingly fancied her… if he had never insisted upon kidnapping her… none of this would have happened.

It wasn’t Madalena’s fault after all. Not really. Not at all, actually. She had only been brought into Gareth’s life because of Richard. And even in the end, it had not been by her hand that he… that he…

_Fell._

At first, he’s angry. At himself, mostly. He punches the ground over and over again, only stopping when he realises he’s cut his knuckles on a stray stone. Normally, he would have yelped and stopped his assault on the ground immediately. For whatever reason, he hadn’t even felt it this time.

Then the anger fades into something darker, something colder, something that wraps tightly around his heart and squeezes. And Richard curls up again, fists clenched and pressed to his chest as his stomach churns. He probably would have gotten sick, if not for the fact he hadn’t eaten in over a day.

“No. No, no, no, no, no…” Voice barely a whisper, eyes shut tight to keep the tears back. He can’t, and soon ends up crying so violently he can hardly breathe.

He isn’t sure how long he lies there with his knees tucked to his chest and his head down, shaking from sobs and from the shock of finally understanding and the stark reality that his best friend was gone - because of him.

As though sensing the despair and hopelessness, Tad Cooper makes a quiet noise and snakes his head sideways and under his wing to nudge gently at Richard’s shoulder. Receiving no response, the dragon doesn’t try again, but nor does he move, keeping his head there, warm breath ruffling Richard’s hair.

And yet more time passes.

 

“Galavant! Galavant!”

“What is it?” The knight sighs, scratching the back of his head. It has been months now, without much change in Richard’s despondency - at least, not that he can tell from the fleeting moments he actually manages to find wherever the king is hiding.

And as much as he understands why Izzy wants to stay… Galavant is becoming quite weary of staying here so long. He simply wants to go back to their home by the sea, and focus on them and their life - not someone else’s.

Izzy, of course, refuses. Then again, it’s why he loves her - for someone so small, her heart is bigger than anything in the world.

The servant looks at him. “It’s the king, sir. He’s back. Don’t know for how long, or whether he’ll go back to the dragon again, but he’s back. He’s in his room. He stopped by the kitchen to get some food, as he does.”

“Thank you.” Galavant makes his way for the staircase.

Sure enough, Richard is in his room, standing in the centre and looking around as though he lost his way somewhere and ended up here without meaning to.

Or at least, Galavant thinks it’s Richard. There’s hardly more than a pale ghost of the flighty, more-than-slightly-petulant king he had once known.

No fancy clothing; Richard is still in the same clothing he wore after the battle, a tunic and leggings and not much else. Either he would wash them in a nearby stream or the multiple rainfalls had kept them mercifully clean, much to Galavant’s relief.

The other man is thin - moreso than before; a shock, for he had always been lanky - and his face drawn and haggard. He looks up, and his eyes are red-rimmed - from crying, Galavant wagers - and the shadows beneath them are darker than usual. His hair has grown even longer, past his shoulders now, and is tangled from lack of brushing. His beard, of course, is thicker as well. Cuts and scrapes litter his hands - especially his knuckles - and his arms, and there’s a fading bruise upon his cheekbone.

“Good god, what happened to you?” The question escapes Galavant’s lips before he can fully consider what he is saying.

Richard simply stares at him for a long moment, swaying slightly on his feet, and then turns away without a word, walking to the window.

“Richard?” Galavant steps forward to place a hand on the other man’s shoulder.

Without warning, the king whirls around, nearly losing his balance, and shoves Galavant away with more force than he had expected. He stumbles backwards against the wall, stunned. “Richard!”

Then Izzy runs into the room, no doubt alerted by a servant as to the arrival of the king. “Richard?” She looks toward Galavant, still leaning against the wall. “Galavant?” Her expression is one of confusion.

“Out. Both of you out.” Richard’s voice is hoarse, but the sentiment behind his words is strong.

“No,” Galavant retorts, straightening up. “You’ve been holed up with that dragon for months, hardly eating, clearly not taking care of yourself. It’s time to stop and come back.”

There is no response, only two blue eyes, the spark gone from them, watching with silence.

“He’s right. Come back. Let us help,” Izzy says gently. She takes a slow step forward, reaching out a hand.

Richard doesn’t take it, still standing beside the window. “Out.”

“Look, what happened was terrible,” Galavant says, fighting back frustration. “But you did what needed to be done. We all knew it had to be done. Gareth did too. You need to move on now - for one, it’s what he would have wanted, and for another, it wasn’t your fault.”

The dead gaze flares to life - with anger - and suddenly Richard is moving, his fist connecting with Galavant’s jaw and sending him reeling backward to the floor.

“Don’t say that.” The words are quiet, with an edge. “Don’t say that.”

Galavant stares up at the king from the floor, Izzy kneeling beside him. Neither of them speak, stunned at the sudden shift in personality.

“It _is_ my fault.” Richard spits out the words. “It is _my_ fault Madalena came here, it is _my_ fault because I started all this. It is _my_ fault that Gareth is dead. I set it into motion and I killed him. Don’t say it isn’t my fault!”

His voice rises with each word until he is shouting, fists clenched and dark red cuts standing out starkly against his pale hands.

He hasn’t been this frightening since long before all of this; before Galavant ever came to know him.

Before he or Izzy can speak again, Richard storms past them and out the door. By the time Galavant staggers to his feet and attempts to go into pursuit, it’s too late - the king has disappeared.

 

Richard doesn’t stay. He leaves, refusing to face any of the men or women he once knew.

And he walks, with nothing but a knapsack full of jerky - the only food he’s willing to eat. He doesn’t know where his destination is, and he doesn’t care.

Tad Cooper follows, of course, because how can one keep a dragon from going where they wish? He keeps a fair distance, circling in the sky above, keeping an eye on Richard. He only alights in the night, to curl around the king for both protection and warmth, for the man can’t be bothered to build a fire.

After some time - he doesn’t know how long, he doesn’t see a reason to keep track - Richard finds himself standing along the edge of an incline beside the sea, staring down at the cold grey water.

Tad Cooper stands a short distance away, wings folded close to his back. It’s dusk, the light from the sun fading fast beneath the horizon. The world is thrown into dimness, the firmament a faded indigo save for the streaks of gold and rose along the edge of the sky.

And Richard talks. He doesn’t know whether he speaks his confessions to the dragon or to a friend who can no longer hear him. But he talks.

“It should have been me. It was my fault. It should have been me.”

Kicking pebbles down the side of the incline, watching them tumble to the sand below.

“It was my fault. Why am I still here? Especially with what I’ve done.”

Looking toward the winged dragon, addressing him now. “You should have seen me not more than a year and a half ago.”

He doesn’t say why. Tad Cooper simply tilts his head, blinking dark eyes slowly. And though he can’t speak, he is listening.

“Gareth only did things because I told him to. He wasn’t a bad man. He wasn’t.”

Everyone used to say he was, of course. Cold-hearted killer, they said. Would murder anyone for nothing but his own pleasure, they said.

Richard knew the truth and he knows it still.

He knows of the man who would let the young king sleep with him after a nightmare, even if that meant letting Richard curl up close.

He knows of the man who risked his life countless times solely to make sure the king stayed alive, coming out of fights with assassins sporting injuries that would have sent a lesser man to the ground.

He knows of the man who may not always have known what to say, but would spend countless hours comforting Richard as he cried; allowing awkward hugs and brewing tea simply to try and console him.

He knows of the man whose loyalty - should you earn it - knew no bounds, no matter the danger, and he knows of the man whose love - again, should you earn it - was shown in odd ways but was no less powerful.

Richard knows the truth.

“He wasn’t a bad man.”

The cry of a gull pierces the air, the bird itself soaring across the sky above the water.

“It should have been me… not him, he didn’t deserve that, and it was my fault. After everything he did for me, and that is how I showed gratitude. Did I ever say thank you? Even once?”

Staring down at the whispering waves, taking a step forward, swaying, wind brushing cold fingers against his face.

“I’m sorry, Gare. I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry…”

 

The bad guys are defeated and the day is saved. That’s how stories work, you see.

Except sometimes they don’t.

Sometimes the bad men live. Sometimes the good men die.

Sometimes there is no such thing as a happily ever after.


End file.
